


What are you doing New Year's Eve?

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Christmas, Christmas Party, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28273128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: "All right. So, New Year's... I don't know. Please don't drag me to Times Square, I have asthma."The laugh Bucky gives on the other end of the line is sudden and sharp and fond, and Steve can practically feel it in his own chest."You hardly have asthma anymore. Anyway, I'm dragging you to my work party, not Times Square, and honestly, I'm not sure if that's any better or worse. Please come," Bucky adds in a smaller voice. "Please be my fake date, Steven."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 24
Kudos: 181
Collections: Star Spangled Secret Santa 2020





	What are you doing New Year's Eve?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AveryRogers83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AveryRogers83/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, Averyrogers83! I hope you have a most wonderful holiday season full of light and warmth! <33 
> 
> Thank you to the mods for running this lovely fest! And thank you to my beta reader for encouragement :')

_**November 20th** _

Steve's halfway across campus when his phone rings. He knows without looking that the caller is probably one of two people: his mother, who's also at work and not likely to call him unless she's on break, or Bucky, who's also at work and very likely to call him whether he's on break or not. 

Pausing in front of the history building, Steve pulls his phone from his pocket, nods when he sees the picture on the screen, and answers before the all can go to voicemail. 

"Heya, Buck."

"Hey, Steve... you're not busy, right?" There's a sound of shuffling papers, and Steve can guess that Bucky's sitting at his desk. 

"I just got to campus a little while ago." Steve can't help the little warm, happy feeling that spark in his chest as soon as he hears his best friend's voice. "Aren't you supposed to be designing robots or something?"

"You would think. It's all paperwork and project proposals this week." Bucky gives a little sigh; his job at Stark Industries is in the robotics and engineering division, but he really does spend a lot of late nights working through proposals and reading grant applications. 

"Yeah, but you're really good at that stuff." 

"I guess? Thanks, though," Bucky says. He sounds a little tired, too, but it's Friday afternoon and he's probably looking forward to the weekend as much as Steve is. 

"You are. You also sound like you're done for the week. So, what's up?" Steve crosses the quad from the History and English buildings to the Art History one, takes the steps up to the library entrance, and lets out a sigh of relief to be out of the chilly wind. 

"Right, I didn't call only to sigh at you. I have a question for you." 

"Mhmm..." Steve can't help the skepticism that creeps into his reply. 

"What? I haven't even asked you yet." 

"Last time you called with 'a question' you'd spent your whole lunch on Pet Finder looking at kittens and wanted to know if we could adopt one together." 

The indignant sound Bucky makes in reply just makes Steve laugh and he has to duck away from a group of undergrads before they start to look at him funny. 

"I think we'd make great kitten dads," Bucky murmurs, that sullen tone from three weeks ago back in his voice. 

"Okay first, we don't live together, which would be bad for our kitten child, and second, you're allergic to cats. It wouldn't work, Buck," Steve says and his voice goes all soft and sorry, because Bucky really _did_ want that one tiny white kitten. 

"I still think we'd be great kitten dads together," Bucky says. "While you reconsider that question, let me ask you: what are you doing New Year's Eve?" 

"It's _November twentieth_. I hardly know what I'm going for Thanksgiving, how am I supposed to know what I'm doing for New Year's?" 

"You know exactly what you're doing on Thanksgiving, you're going over to your Ma's and you're going to stuff yourself with carbs, watch football, and call your Aunt Helen and Uncle Eddie so they don't complain you forgot this year." 

"That's--"

"--exactly true, don't fight me on this one." The sullenness from Bucky's voice turns to a familiar brightness, the kind that catches Steve unaware and makes him wish Bucky were here with him in person. "So, that's Thanksgiving." 

"All right. So, New Year's... I don't know. Please don't drag me to Times Square, I have asthma." 

The laugh Bucky gives on the other end of the line is sudden and sharp and fond, and Steve can practically feel it in his own chest. 

"You hardly have asthma anymore. Anyway, I'm dragging you to my work party, not Times Square, and honestly, I'm not sure if that's any better or worse. Please come," Bucky adds in a smaller voice. "Please be my fake date, Steven." 

By the time Steve gets to his office in the Art History building and drops his keys on his desk, he knows he's going to give into whatever Bucky asks of him. He's going to give in before he even realizes what he's going to get himself into and he's going to do it because he can't imagine saying no to Bucky, not when he can envision the light blue of Bucky's eyes and the soft, dark strands of hair that escape his bun. Steve's going to say yes because he wants to say yes, because he wants to make Bucky happy. 

So, Steve says yes, and laughs with Bucky at the over the top invitation Bucky got to the Stark New Year's Gala, and makes vague plans with Bucky to find something fancy enough to wear to the party. 

"You can borrow one of my suits so you don't end up wearing one of your hippie artist outfits. Or the blue sweater and khakis." 

"You love both my fashion modes. Starving artist and softball dad," Steve says. 

"Okay, yeah, you're right. They're both Stevie Typical. Which reminds me--laundry?" 

"Yeah, laundry. Tonight if you feel like it. Or Sunday?" 

Bucky makes a thoughtful sound. "Sunday, I'm working late tonight. I'll bring pizza, though. Go teach some kids and I'll talk to you later. Maybe we can do something for Thanksgiving together, too." 

Steve hangs up with a smile on his face that lingers as he preps for his Friday afternoon class and lasts all the way until he walks into his Intro to American Art lecture. 

The holiday season is almost here, he has plans for New Year's Eve, and Steve can't help but feel excited. He loves this time of year and the hopeful excitement it offers as the days grow shorter and colder. 

_**November 22nd**_

Laundry night basically means Bucky comes over with his laundry, goes out to pick up pizza and beer, and uses Steve's washer and dryer while Steve watches television or grades papers. 

This week, Steve's grading essays and he's more than glad for the company and the food. By the time Bucky joins him on the sofa, a headache is growing behind his eyes and all the words are starting to jumble together. 

"Here, give me one. Let me read it to you or something" Bucky tugs the essay out of Steve's hands and frowns at the first paragraph. "Um... Well. That's... Unique." 

"Yeah, most of them elicit that response." Steve tries to get the paper back, but gives up to pull off his glasses and scrub both hands down his face. His hand's starting to cramp up a little from writing comments and Steve can't help the soft, surprised sigh when Bucke slips the green pen from his hand. 

"You write too many comments, Stevie," Bucky murmurs as he flips through the paper. He drops it onto the pile on the coffee table, hums a thoughtful sound, and reaches over to stroke his fingers through Steve's hair. "You should just have them hand their papers in online, so you don't have to handwrite so many comments." 

Steve shrugs. "Reading on the computer isn't so great, either," he admits. He doesn't say that reading student papers on the screen gives him a worse headache, though he ducks his head when Bucky gives him a knowing look. 

Another thoughtful little hum from Bucky, then his fingers brush against Steve's temples, just a light touch at first, then gentle pressure. He rubs Steve's temples for a few seconds, then murmurs a quiet 'good' when Steve lets out another sigh and relaxes his shoulders. 

A little smile touches Bucky's mouth and Steve realizes he feels warm all over, not just where Buck's touching, but especially where Bucky's touching him. Warm, and like he could let all the tension of the past semester melt away under Bucky's touch. 

"Hey." Bucky smiles again, then brushes Steve's hair out of his eyes. "You need to eat more, okay? We need to demolish this pizza because I'm not carrying leftover pizza home along with my clean laundry." 

"That's so persuasive, Buck." Steve can't help but smile, too, and he leans back into the sofa cushions with a deep groan, then fills a couple plates for himself and Bucky to finish off their dinner. 

"Next week--" Bucky says. 

"--I'll get pizza," Steve offers before Bucky can continue. 

"Okay, cool, but not that weird veggie one you like. And that's not what I was going to say." Bucky folds one of his slices in half and takes a bite, reveling in the extra cheese and pepperoni he always gets for the two of them, then looks at Steve after he swallows. "My parents are doing Thanksgiving dinner on Wednesday, because they're flying out to see my dad's folks on Thursday. You should come, you and your Ma. You don't need to bring anything." 

"You know my mother, she'll bring you at least two pies. You're not going out?" Steve asks, then feels a little sorry he did when Bucky's eyes go sad and soft for a few seconds. 

"I have too much going on at work." The expression disappears as quickly as it came, though, and Bucky nibbles on his pizza. "Please come over." 

"Yeah, all right, but only if you come have dinner with us on Thursday." 

"And watch football?" Bucky asks. 

"And watch football, and call my Aunt Helen and Uncle Eddie. You always come for dessert anyway," Steve adds. 

"I'll come," Bucky says. And every last trace of that soft, sad expression is gone from his face as he nudges one of his socked-feet against Steve's. 

_**November 26th**_

Steve drops down onto the sofa at his mom's house next to Bucky and smiles when Bucky shakes himself out of a doze to make more room for Steve on the sofa. Not that he really needs to--it's just the two of them sitting there--but Steve happily settles into the empty spot. 

"Is our team winning?" Steve asks. When Bucky looks confused, he nods towards the television set and watches the game himself for a minute. 

"Which one's ours?" Bucky shifts on the sofa and tugs a blanket around to tuck over Steve's feet when he tries to shove them under Bucky's legs to warm them up. The softest expression flickers on his face when Steve glances back at him, just for a second, before he looks back to the football game, too. 

"Whichever team Uncle Richie's least annoyed with this year." Wriggling his toes underneath the blanket helps warm them up and Steve feels himself settle into the same warm, lazy happiness that he's sure Bucky is full of right now, too. 

They watch the game together for a little while, Bucky curled up one end of the sofa, Steve stretched out into the middle with the afghan over his feet and his small sketchbook in his lap. He listens to his uncle talk about the game while he watches Bucky pull his hair out of the loose bun, then tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear. When Bucky glances back at Steve with a smile--he's probably finally figured out what team they're routing for--that inimitable, pleased warmth rises up in Steve's chest and he wriggles his toes against Bucky's leg. 

"I think you're just happy your dinner was ninety-percent carbs," Bucky murmurs. 

Steve makes a vague, pleased sound and lets his glasses slip down his nose. Bucky had made stuffing and apple crumb cake to go along with his mom's roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and other sides. He can't lie; he's a little too full of stuffing and potatoes and dinner rolls. But there's a warm, settled happiness inside him that has nothing to do with food and everything to do with the warm buzz of the television and conversation around them, and the feel of Bucky's thigh pressed against his toes, and the rough sketch of his mother's living room coming to life on the paper in his lap. 

"I hope you make that apple crumb cake for Christmast, Buck." 

"I'll make it for you, Stevie," Bucky says. His eyes go a little soft again and Steve knows, in that moment, they'll be spending Christmas together, too. 

They pass a few more quiet minutes watching the game and Steve nudges his foot against Bucky's leg until Bucky shifts and lets Steve shove his chilly toes beneath his thigh. Steve sighs happily, then laughs when Bucky rolls his eyes and calls him an _actual, literal pain in the ass_. 

The rest of the evening unwinds slowly and warmly around them, with another helping of coffee and dessert, phone calls to both their relatives, and Bucky agreeing to spend the night at Steve's mom's place so the three of them can have brunch together tomorrow morning before Sarah goes to work. 

After everyone else leaves, Steve lends Bucky a pair of his own sweats from the clothes he keeps at his mom's place and brings a pile of blankets out to the sofa. He unfolds the blankets and arranges them, adds a couple pillows, and reminds himself to check that the heat isn't turned down too low. 

"You look like you're building me a nest." Bucky touches the back of Steve's shoulder as he pads into the living room. 

"I just want to make sure you sleep all right." Steve lets himself lean into the warm touch, remembering how warm and snug he and Bucky had been on the sofa during the football game. 

"Pretty sure I ate and drank enough to sleep for about twelve hours." Bucky yawns and stretches, his voice dipping low and tired, and when he rests his hand on Steve's shoulder again, Steve turns into the touch. 

"I'm glad you came for Thanksgiving. I'm just--" _So happy_ , Steve realizes, in the dim light of the living room. He drops his gaze to Bucky's hand on his arm and gives a small nod."Really glad." 

"Me, too," Bucky replies and when they hug, Steve buries his face in Bucky's shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut against the thought of ever having to let go. 

_**December 13**_

Steve's a miserable sprawl of blankets and impending doom when Bucky comes into the living room with a laundry basket full of clothes fresh out of the dryer. 

"I have so many finals to grade," Steve groans. "I think my head's going to explode..." 

"That's probably your sinuses," Bucky says. "Also, don't do that, it's going to make you start coughing again," he adds when Steve buries his face in his pillows. 

Steve groans again, but Bucky's right. Only a couple hits from his asthma inhaler and about a half dozen cups of tea convinced his cough to settle down earlier; he doesn't really want to start that up all over again this afternoon. 

So, Steve leans up against the pillows on the sofa and rubs at his face while he watches Bucky fold tee shirts. First the plain white or grey ones he wears under his button-ups and sweaters to work, then the other nerdy ones he wears at home, Star Wars and NASA and a couple from the art school. Actually, those might be Steve's, and the realization has Steve rubbing at his face again. He's too tired and sick to tell if Bucky's folding his laundry or if he and Bucky are in the clothes-sharing stage of a relationship without being in a relationship. 

Maybe it doesn't even matter, Steve thinks as Bucky starts to match up socks. He's got his hair pulled up into a messy bun, dark wisps brushing the back of his neck, and he's wearing an old sweater, worn soft, along with the sweats Steve loaned him back around Thanksgiving. 

At some point Steve dozes off, the haze of head cold and end of semester exhaustion wearing him down. A coughing fit wakes him up, pulling him out of the warm, sleepy haze, and only when he's done coughing does Steve notice the blanket draped around his shoulders.

"You sure you're doing all right?" Bucky asks from his seat on the floor, where he's definitely folding Steve's clothes up for him now. 

Steve nods and scrubs his face into the blanket. When he tries to talk, he has to clear his throat, and clearing his throat seems to make him want to cough again. 

"I hate this," he croaks. "I'm so behind on everything, and the museum event is Thursday, and..." 

Bucky pauses folding up a pair of Steve's plaid flannel pj pants and stands up to come sit next to Steve on the sofa. The expression on his face is fond, familiar worry, and he hands Steve tissues and his water bottle before taking to rubbing his back. 

"Here's what we're going to do, okay? You're going to rest today and tomorrow and do sick person things, like watch movies and nap and have soup." Bucky pauses long enough to give Steve a look that's half encouragement, half admonishment. When Steve gives a reluctant nod, Bucky smiles with relief. “You’ll feel better sooner, Stevie. Then you can grade on Tuesday and Wednesday, and we’ll go to the museum holiday event on Thursday.” 

“We ... we will?” Steve asks. Not that Bucky hasn’t attended events at the museum and art history department with him before, but there’s something about the way he says it this time that’s different. 

“We will.” Bucky brushes Steve’s hair off his forehead then gently rests his palm there with a soft hmm sound. “You feel a little warm,” he adds and strokes Steve’s hair off his forehead again. 

Steve glances aside. Bucky makes it sound so easy: take a couple sick days to rest, grade all those finals, go to his work holiday party. 

With Bucky. Warmth gathers in Steve's chest and he's pretty sure Bucky can feel it flush over his face, too. 

"You don't need to come to the museum party. But--" 

"I want to," Bucky interrupts him. "I'm dragging you to my work party, so it's only fair. Besides, it'll be nice to walk around the museum with the holiday decorations up and music playing." 

"-- _but_ ," Steve repeats, though his raspy voice obscures most of the emphasis he puts on the word, "I want you to." 

"Good." Warmth seems to light Bucky's face up, too, and he rubs Steve's back again even though he's not coughing. "D'you want to eat something more than oatmeal today, too? I can get you soup and some other stuff from the Italian place instead of pizza. Noodles?" 

Steve wants to protest that he's had more than oatmeal, but copious tea and a handful of Cheez-Its probably don't count. Anyway, Bucky knows him too well. He knows how bad Steve is at being a sick person despite all the experience his shitty immune system has given him. Letting Bucky order dinner for them from their Italian place is the easiest thing, as is curling up with Bucky to watch Christmas movies while they eat. 

The second time Steve wakes up after dozing off after dinner, he's curled up around his pillows, feet in Bucky's lap, the sofa a nest of blankets around them, and _The Muppet Christmas Carol_ on the television. 

"I love this movie," Steve murmurs. He's not really awake, but they've both seen this movie so many times that it hardly matters. 

Bucky looks over at Steve with a smile. Dinner is put away and the laundry is all folded, but Bucky's still here, hair down around his shoulders, eyes soft and a little tired. 

"Yeah, me, too," he says and settles in to finish watching with Steve. 

_**December 17**_

"Don't worry, I have a tie." Bucky announces himself as he walks into Steve's office on campus. The scent of snow and cold air comes with him, too, and a few flurries still cling to the shoulders of his coat. "Also, please be impressed how nice I dressed to run the engineering lab for a few hours before walking over here." 

"You don't need to wear a tie, Buck, the party's not formal." 

"I want to look good for you, Stevie. I'm not some half-assed holiday party date; I make an effort." 

Steve laughs at how serious Bucky sounds. "You don't have to be my date," he murmurs. "We're just going together." 

Bucky pulls off his coat and scarf, then pulls his hair out of its ponytail. He gives Steve a tiny frown, the barest crease between his eyebrows, and leans in against Steve's desk. 

"We could practice. For my work party," he says. "It can be a date..." 

Something catches in Steve's chest at the barely-there change in the tone of Bucky's voice. He can't quite identify the change, but the look in Bucky's eyes is also a combination of plaintive, hopeful, and wary. 

Steve's known Bucky all his life. Seriously, his _whole life_. His mom has pictures of him when he was a few weeks old on a blanket in the Barnes's living room, Bucky sitting on the blanket next to him and trying to give Steve his binky. 

If Bucky wants tonight to be a date... Steve swallows. For Bucky, he could make it a date, he could practice holding Bucky's hand and sharing soft, secret smiles. He could practice ignoring the flutter in his chest and the niggling fear that some point, he'll have to stop pretending that he's pretending.

"Are you worried _I'll_ be some half-assed holiday party date on New Year's if we don't practice?" Steve asks. "I've been on dates before." Steve does frown a little at his own pale blue sweater and khakis--that's definitely not a date outfit. 

"You are wearing the outfit you promised not to wear to my holiday event." 

"This is--this is a _different_ blue sweater than the one I meant." 

Bucky laughs and the sound is warm and rich. He's not laughing at Steve, not really, and when he leans across Steve's desk, the wariness is gone from his eyes. His fingers slip gently through Steve's hair, brushing it off his forehead, and he leans in closer to fix the soft knit scarf Steve has on. 

"Steven Grant Rogers, for all the things that you and I have done together, we've never been on a date. Everybody needs practice," Bucky adds and the tips of his fingers brush warm and gentle against Steve's jawline. 

The fluttering warmth in Steve's chest spreads to his neck, then his face, and he half-wonders if he's still feverish from that monster cold he's just about over. He feels a little dizzy, too, and all he can think to do is turn his face into Bucky's hand and close his eyes. 

They're both really quiet for a few moments and Steve thinks he's the one who should be nervous now, and wary. But he's not. He's just warm and content, the prospect of the holiday season with Bucky continually unfolding around him. Every day this week he spent some time with Bucky, lunches and afternoon coffee. Even dinner on Monday night, when Bucky came by with cold medicine and tissues and the promise that he'd make soup for dinner. 

"All right. Let's go on a museum Christmas party date." 

Bucky's smile is triumphant. The dark red necktie he pulls from his coat pocket and slips around his neck is the perfect accent to his dark grey shirt and black trousers. He really is dressed for a date and just being close to him makes Steve feel special in a way that nothing else ever has. 

The museum is decked in pine boughs, red and gold spangled around the walls and displays. The main entrance is full of activity, Christmas music and conversation, and Steve cannot help but smile at how glad he is to be in the midst of it. Bucky's arm is warm around his waist and when Steve turns to him, that same smile back on Bucky's face.

"Do you want something to drink? Let me get you something to drink before we mingle," Bucky says before Steve can answer. 

"Get me something fizzy." Steve leans into the arm Bucky still has around his waist and feels happiness fizz inside him when Bucky touches the small of his back before going to get drinks. 

He returns with something sweet and fizzy with cherries and a lime-slice in the tumbler and his arm slides automatically around Steve's waist after he hands Steve his drink. 

Everyone Steve's close to at the museum already knows Bucky, so Steve doesn't have to introduce him as his date. Yet, every time they stop to chat with friends and colleagues and Bucky glances at Steve, the softest smile lighting his eyes, Steve feels like he should. 

With the swirl of holiday lights and music around them, Steve wants to tell everyone he's realized that he's in love with his best friend. 

_**December 27**_

Steve plans on telling Bucky for Christmas. They've slipped from friends into something different from friends, and they've done it so easily and with such close and intimate warmth that Steve knows they deserve to say it out loud to each other. 

For Bucky's Christmas gift, he puts together a series of sketches--of Bucky, of the two of them together, of their families' homes, and their neighborhood--and one of the sweet myrrh scented candles that Bucky loves. 

The moment when Bucky unwraps his gift from the froth of white and gold tissues paper is perfect. He smiles and looks through each sketch, fingers lingering on some small detail, and his face just goes so soft when he lifts the heavy yellow glass of the candle. 

So perfect that Steve cannot imagine that he was ever not in love with Bucky. His own heart melts when Bucky thanks him and leans in to press a kiss to Steve's ear, quick and light, then smiles against him. If the gift doesn't speak for itself, or the quiet sigh Steve gives as he nestles into Bucky's side, well... 

He'll tell Bucky. Sometime during the pleasant, timeless blur of days between Christmas and New Years. Steve's plans include doing another sketch for Bucky, one he can give him in private, and maybe cooking dinner and lighting a few candles of his own. The gesture doesn't need to be grand, it just needs to be special. 

The Sunday after Christmas, Bucky's sprawled out on Steve's sofa in a coma of pizza and classic Hollywood Christmas movies. For the past two days, they've done nothing more than this: laze around Steve or Bucky's place curled up around each other, watch television or listen to music and read or draw, go on walks in the chilly December air, and reluctantly say good night when one of them starts dozing off. 

Bucky's half-humming along to one of the songs in _White Christmas_ when Steve comes in from the kitchen with hot cocoa for them both. He's wearing Steve's sweats again, this time with a tee-shirt from an art fair they both volunteered at a few years ago, and a maroon cardigan. 

"Hey... you want to watch Charlie Brown again?" Bucky asks, sounding tired and happy, and makes a pleased sound deep in his throat when Steve sits down on the edge of the sofa. "You can have some couch." 

"Wow, can I? Some of my own couch?" Steve makes sure their hot cocoa is safe on the coffee table, then he stretches out alongside Bucky. When he tucks his head in against Bucky's shoulder, Bucky makes another low, pleased sound. 

They're quiet for a few minutes. Steve can feel the gentle thrum of Bucky's heart against his own, the rise and fall of his breathing, as familiar to Steve as all the rhythms of their life together. 

He's known Bucky his whole life. They know each other inside out and as long either of them can remember. 

"Folded your clothes for you, Stevie," Bucky murmurs. His lips brush against the hair that falls over Steve's forehead. 

"Mhm..." Steve hugs himself closer to Bucky, as close as he can, because he knows this now, too: that when he says he would do anything for Bucky, it's because Bucky would do the same for him. 

Leaning up on his elbow, Steve looks down at Bucky. At his nose and his eyelashes and the softest, finest hair at his temple. 

And he kisses them, too. His nose and his eyelashes and that soft, fine hair at his temple, and feels warmth bloom in his heart like a dozen fresh red roses as Bucky slides an arm around his waist to draw him closer. 

The first time they kiss is all winter-blooming red roses and the sweetness of a lazy winter afternoon, a lifetime of warmth of love and of unending promises. Bucky kisses the corner of Steve's mouth and says _oh, sweetheart_ with such breathless wonder that Steve closes his eyes and pulls Bucky into a deeper kiss. 

"I need to ask you again," Bucky murmurs when they stop kissing, but stay close. "What are you doing New Year's Eve?" 

"I have a date," Steve replies. He smiles and glances aside as Bucky reaches up to slip his glasses from his face, then smiles again when Bucky touches his cheek. 

Not a second passes before Bucky kisses him again, and then again, and then once more before Steve realizes there won't be any reluctant goodbyes at the end of the evening. 

_**January 1**_

It's after two in the morning when they get home and Steve's so tired he's starting to feel a little light-headed. The world is blurred with champagne and music and fireworks and the promise of New Year. 

He's cold, too. Cold enough that as soon as Bucky unlocks and opens the door to his apartment, Steve slides his arms around Bucky. He pulls away long enough to undo Bucky's coat and slip his arms around Bucky again, so they're both tucked into his warm coat and Steve can nuzzle into the crook of his neck. 

"Your nose is _so_ cold," Bucky says, then: "I love you." He kisses Steve's hair and his arms wrap tightly around Steve's shoulders. "I love you _so much_." 

Steve can't help the smile or the kiss that he presses against Bucky's neck. How everything can feel so new and fresh between them, yet so familiar and well-worn makes his heart thrill over and over. Leaning up closer, he nuzzles into the warm space behind Bucky's ear that he now knows makes Bucky melt. 

"I love you, too. In so many ways," Steve says. He kisses Bucky and his hands stroke gently up and down Bucky's sides, just enough to get Bucky to ease into the touch and kiss Steve more deeply.

Their walk back to Bucky's bedroom is slow and kiss-filled, their hands wandering and mouths murmuring late-night endearments. Each kiss is an endearment, too, and Bucky whispers them from the crook of hSteve's neck to the angle of his hip bone after bringing him to bed. 

Just before they finally fall asleep, tangled up in each other and hazy-warm from making love, Steve rests his hand over Bucky's heart. He knows exactly what he'll be doing next New Year's Eve and every one after that.


End file.
